


Callisto [Paused]

by Heikijin



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Animal Death, Awkwardness, Bottom Jean Kirstein, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein-centric, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prosthesis, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:09:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24084121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heikijin/pseuds/Heikijin
Summary: Set in the modern day with sci-fi-esque additions Jean meets Marco under some rather upsetting circumstances. Despite his shock at the situation Marco helps Jean out and they end up becoming fast friends.  It takes a little longer for them to realise it may just be deeper than that.
Relationships: Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter is the most angst heavy but it is not badly so. It involves the death of a cat [post the event and with no graphic depictions]. It sets off some of Jean's issues.
> 
> Whilst I cannot write from the point of view of others with PTSD I have been dealing with PTSD for over 17 years now and write from my own experiences. Though it's actually harder than I thought to try and write down the emotional side of what happens during episodes. 
> 
> This will be mature [or explicit] in the future.
> 
> This is the first time I've written anything in a couple of years now, please be patient with me. 
> 
> That's all, I hope you enjoy~!

It was raining that day, the sky blackened with thick clouds that threatened floods and electrical storms, already rumbling with thunder in the far off distance. Most had retreated into their homes or various workplaces, café’s and shops to avoid the summer storm but a few stragglers remained either unable to or uninterested in finding shelter quickly.

Jean was one of these people, however he was immobile and not in search of anywhere to keep dry at all. Kneeling on the pathway below a looming multi story parking complex, behind one of the popular shopping districts of the city, he was cradling a small mass in his arms as his shoulders trembled unevenly.

Jean was oblivious to his surroundings until a deeper shadow fell over him and the torrents of rainwater suddenly stopped pelting his form, the shuddering of his shoulders stilled completely. Slowly, mismatched eyes glanced up through the messy, soaked bangs sticking to his forehead and face, cheeks red from tears.

“Are you all right?” His voice was rich and warm. The kind of soothing sound that anyone lonely would pine for, Jean thought.

“Callisto…” Jean whispered before thinking, his breath hitching on a sob midway.

“Excuse me? Sorry I… don’t follow…” Confusion was the main tone now and Jean ducked his head and huddled in on himself and the unmoving mass in his arms.

“Nothing. Leave me alone.” Jean’s words were blunt but not hostile, in fact the tone he’d spoken in was quivering with held back tears.

The stranger - whose features held countless freckles across his cheeks and nose bridge - crouched down and placed the hand not holding the umbrella over Jean onto the sobbing man’s shoulder. He was quiet for a long moment and the only sounds breaking the silence between them were Jean’s soft sobbing almost drowned out by the rain.

“You’re getting… soaked.” Jean muttered in the same voice as before and glanced up again to watch the strangers brown eyes dancing over him in concern.

“I said… go away…” More meekly this time.

Jean pulled the small thing closer to him and leaned back away from the other man slightly, his knees pressed to the puddle filled pavement and his dark grey jeans soaked dark with water and blood. His thighs almost black hued from the density of the droplets mingling with water and seeping through the layers.

“O- oh my god is that _blood_? Are you hurt, do you need an ambulance!?” The freckled stranger panicked slightly after noticing and all Jean could do was shake his head frantically and squeeze his eyes shut.

“Not mine…” Apparently 19 years had done little to develop Jean’s ability to have lengthy conversations when he was stressed. One or two word answers were usually his forté. “The cat.” and his brow furrowed once more, face crumpling into a pained expression as he cried again, thankful that the water dripping from his hair helped to make the tears less obvious.

Jean heard more than saw the other man’s knees come to rest heavily on the pavement in-front of his own, kneecaps touching ever so slightly as the hand that had been placed on Jean’s shoulder slowly and gently moved down his arm. He tugged at Jean’s wrist gingerly until Jean moved his arms enough to reveal the small, white cat curled lifeless in the cradle of his arms with blood marring the lower half of its body. The stranger didn’t want to look any more than that it seemed, because he let Jean curl it back into a tight hold as if doing so could save it when it was already dead and far too damaged to remain alive if they tried to revive it.

“I’m so sorry… was it your pet? Would you like me to help you… um…” He paused somewhat awkwardly and Jean tensed. _Don’t say it…_ Jean thought just before the next words tumbled forth. “Bury it?” Such an innocent question, also far too kind for a stranger to suddenly offer in such a downpour. Still, Jean felt a prickle of anxiety that rolled out of him like a possessive rage.

“I told you to fuck off!” Jean hissed.

Then he recoiled and the shame of his outburst - the way it made the stranger flinch - washed over him in a blanket of self loathing. It wasn’t this man’s fault, it wasn’t even his cat. Jean had just come across the scene although he had seen it around, always made sure to stop and pet it.

 _‘Just leave it, it’s dead already and if it’s not it will be soon. There’s no point, you can’t save something that damaged_ .’ Words that another passer-by had said around the time Jean had found the cat and kneeled down to see if it could be helped. Words that brought back suffocating memories of his own pain and suffering when he was 16 and people said similar things about him. They’d almost all written him off, _can’t save him, he’s too damaged, he’ll be a vegetable, his body is mostly crushed….let him die it’s kinder…_

“Sorry… Sorry I… no, it wasn’t my cat… it’s just I… can’t just leave it here alone.” Jean forced the words out over uneven hiccups of breath.

“It’s ok.” The stranger said softly, kindly. “It’s ok. Shall we bury it somewhere together? Let’s at least see it off nicely. Ok?” Jean found the hand gently rubbing his shoulder was calming and although he was ashamed at his words, and embarrassed about the state he’d become over a cat he didn’t even own he wanted this man to stay, just for a bit.

“Ok… Yeah, sure.” Jean croaked, making a move to stand on shaking legs even though they were no longer those of flesh.

“I’m Marco, by the way…” The umbrella was still over Jean’s head, though the hand on his shoulder had retreated.

“I’m Jean…” He said simply, not making eye contact though he didn’t miss the sad smile directed at him, the bottom of Marco’s face in his line of vision.

“Well then Jean, shall we find a nice park? Somewhere that people go a lot.” Marco said and seemed to have far better critical thinking skills than Jean because he’d drawn a blank when he was sitting on the floor angsting over what the hell to do. But this man, Marco, already thought of such a fitting place.

Jean nodded and turned his back to Marco then, blinking rain and tears out of his eyes. Again Jean felt like a bit of an idiot for reacting so strongly to the whole incident, to the passerby who said the cat was already a lost cause and to Marco who had stopped to try and see if he was ok. Still, anything that triggered his fragmented memories of three years prior sent him into a muddled and volatile state. Thankfully this one had been mild.

They walked in silence for a short while, Marco was still holding the umbrella over Jean so now they were both soaked through. Jean from sitting in the downpour for so long and Marco for trying to shelter an already soaked to the bone stranger with apparently little regard for his own comfort.

They passed no one as they found a small park filled with trees and grass and flower beds. A gravel path transected the space and snaked off out of view between the foliage, the odd bench and trash bin dotted around for the public to make use of. 

The rain hadn’t even begun to ease when they stopped at the base of a silver birch tree, white bark delicate and curling away from the trunk in curved and curly strips in various places. There was little cover provided by the tree but it was better than standing fully exposed at least, Jean squatted down for a moment feeling awkward and melancholy. Marco followed suit but his gentle smile was still in place and Jean felt a strange, uncomfortable warmth spreading through his chest despite the situation. Perhaps he was getting sick.

Jean stared at the earth patch beneath the tree for a long moment, soil soft from the rain and it looked easy enough to dig in. Then came the issue of trying to do so whilst still holding the fragile form of the cat, he didn’t want to just put it on the floor and Marco was dressed in a suit that Jean guessed was work attire. Even if it hadn’t been, Jean felt uncomfortable at the prospect of the guy getting blood on him, it just seemed wrong. 

Suddenly the sound of the umbrella being folded brought Jean out of his thoughts. Well, they were both soaked already anyway so it wasn’t really required at this point.

“It’s okay, I can do it.” Marco’s statement made Jean turn his head to blink almost owlishly at the other man.

Whilst Marco was soaked and his white shirt was sticking to him - admittedly somewhat see through in places - he just looked too neat and put together for digging in the mud. Once again Jean thought this entire situation was surreal. Depressing, but also probably the strangest interaction of his life.

“You…” Jean flailed in his head for something to say to Marco that didn’t just sound _weird_ , he’d already told the poor guy to fuck off when he was trying to help.

“It’s okay, _really_. I grew up on a farm. I'm pretty sure some mud won’t kill me.” Marco chuckled and the sound eased the uncomfortable knot in Jean’s chest and stomach, just a bit.

“Right… okay then… thanks.” Jean let his knees drop to the floor and sat back on his heels, he was already wet and covered in cat blood, it wasn’t like some mud and grass stains to the knees would make much of a difference now.

Marco just smiled at him, placing the umbrella down and kneeling too. There was no hesitation in Marco’s actions and he sunk his fingers into the earth, beginning to dig out a hole big enough with his hands. Jean was sure it felt unpleasant and there were probably _worms_ in there and suddenly he was glad Marco had so easily offered to dig the grave. The sound of the rain was a constant static hum in the background now, along with the odd car or skyship. 

The more he watched Marco digging the more Jean thought about what was _really_ happening. It didn’t matter that the cat was dead, the thoughts still started to come in intrusive bursts. It was going to be buried, it would be dark and cold and the weight of the earth would press down on its body. Jean’s vision blurred as he felt his breathing speed up, heart beating hard in his chest in the familiar pattern of panic.

 _Stop. Stop! It’s a cat. It’s dead. It can’t feel it. It’s not you._ Jean’s mind raced, going through familiar phrases he’d been taught in therapy during his recovery. _You’re safe, alive, out in the open._ He didn’t even realise Marco had stopped digging.

“Jean?” The hand on his arm made Jean flinch and choke loudly, jolting and turning to stare at Marco despite his mouth hanging open around his heavy breaths. He couldn’t breathe. He knew it was a panic attack, he _knew_ it would pass but he couldn’t breathe. 

“Hey, _hey_ it’s ok!” Marco’s hands were covered in mud but he gripped Jean’s upper arms firmly anyway. Jean didn’t care. Marco’s grasp was grounding and staring at his face gave Jean something other than the cat or the grave or the flashbacks to focus on. 

“Ghhkh.” It was a sort of gross sound, Jean would be pretty mortified later about having a panic attack in front of someone. His left hand was numb and stiff, he couldn’t move his fingers and it felt like he was losing his grip on Callisto so he pressed his right hand more firmly against its body to keep it in place. The synthetic vessels and nerves making up the limb immune to his hyperventilation induced lack of carbon dioxide.

Marco looked like he was trying to figure out what to say, put on the spot by Jean’s seemingly out of the blue breakdown. Somewhere in the back of his mind Jean felt guilty, but he could angst over that side of things later. For now he forced himself to try and count the freckles across the other man’s nose and cheeks, a futile thing because there were too many but it slowly started to help Jean take control of his racing thoughts and memories. 

Jean didn’t know how long it was before he felt closer to normal again but the rain had eased off to a light drizzle - which was somehow worse than a full pelt downpour. He was glad for Marco’s company and the other man’s clumsy attempts at calming him down, Jean decided Marco was one of those naturally _good_ people who had no ulterior motives for helping others. A rarity. At least in Jean’s opinion.

When it was clear Jean could breathe again and his trembling had stopped Marco had gently suggested they get to the task at hand and bury the poor cat before people began venturing to the wet streets again and they got caught. It probably wasn’t exactly allowed to dig holes in public parks to bury stray cats in, after all. The hole was deeper than Jean had been expecting and he became more appreciative of the effort Marco had put into digging it - _with his bare hands_. 

Jean stood up and brushed his hands off of the sides of his thighs, wondering what face his mother would make when he came home covered in mud and blood and grass stains. Marco seemed to be thinking something similar as he looked down at himself, hands held to either side slightly as if he didn’t quite know what to do with them. Then again Marco seemed quite a few years older than Jean, so perhaps he didn’t have to worry about what his parents thought, after all. Then Marco was looking at him with an expression that Jean couldn’t quite pinpoint. He seemed embarrassed but determined.

“You’re uh…” Marco’s eyes trailed down over Jean’s chest and legs at the stains on his clothes. “Covered in blood, and dirt.” Apparently he liked to state the obvious. Jean lifted a brow.

“Yeah…” _No shit._ Jean cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, slouching slightly and glancing to one side because the weight of the other man’s gaze was somewhat heavy. At least to an introvert like Jean who was used to spending most of his time alone.

“Pft.” Marco’s half laugh had Jean’s gaze snapping back to him, incredulous. “Sorry.” Marco held his hands up as if to ward off any irritation, rolling his right shoulder slightly so the strap of his messenger bag slips more comfortably into place. It tugged at his deep red tie, making it lay askew. “It’s just… you remind me of a cat.” His smile remained in place for a moment before faltering, seeming to remember the situation. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok.” Jean felt a hint of colour high on his cheeks at being called a cat, more like a drowned rat. Still, he couldn’t help the slight upturn of one corner of his mouth. He was still sad about the cat, and would be for a while, but it was hard to stay gloomy around the other man somehow.

“This might sound like an odd question, or out of the blue, but do you think you’d perhaps like to…” Marco paused, seeming to work out his words before continuing. “Come and dry off, change your clothes? My apartment is just on the other side of the park here and I’m not sure how much of a good idea it is to walk around looking like that.” 

Jean was about to retort with something about looking absolutely fine until he looked down at himself again. Marco was right, he’d probably shock people or end up confronted by the police. For a small cat Callisto had a lot of blood to lose. Jean pressed his lips together in a tight line at the memory, still fresh.

“That's uh…” Was it a good idea to accept the offer? Marco _was_ nice and Jean didn’t get any bad vibes at all but who was to say he wasn’t actually some serial killer or something? Still… “That’d be great, if it’s not too much trouble. I guess I look sort of dodgy huh.” He resisted the urge to press a hand to the back of his head, he wasn’t going to get his hair involved in the filth covering them.

“Honestly, it’s fine. I’d feel awful if I just left you in this state now.” Marco bent to pick up his discarded umbrella. On his way back to an upright position the brunette gingerly used a finger to drag the soaked hair out of his eyes, obviously trying to transfer as little mud as possible.

Jean followed Marco back out of the park in the opposite direction from whence they came. The way his shirt and jeans were sticking to him felt gross as he moved and he couldn’t help pulling a disgusted face at the sensation. 

Marco hadn’t been lying when he said he lived right on the other side of the park. No sooner had they crossed the road and walked a few meters down the opposing side the other man was pulling his keys from his pocket and using a fob to open the large entry doors. The building was nice, it was old and pretty and fit well with the atmosphere of the park, though it was at odds with a lot of the other city buildings that had been upgraded over the years.

“Sorry there’s no lift here.” Marco’s apologetic tone was actually genuine, Jean shrugged. He didn’t mind stairs.

In the quiet of the stairwell Jean could hear his sneakers squelching with each step from how wet they were. _Gross_. He really didn’t like being needlessly wet. He felt awkward, wondering if he should try to make conversation. But then the stairs abruptly stopped, the top floor of the building only four levels up, and Marco was fiddling with the lock on the single door facing the front of the building. The other door on the level was on the other side of the hallway and had a neat little welcome mat outside and some potted plants. Quaint.

“Sorry about the mess, I haven’t had time to clean up this week.” Marco’s sheepish words brought Jean’s attention back to the other man and he shrugged as he followed Marco into the apartment, heart hammering in his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

Marco’s apartment was dimly lit from the large windows along the wall directly ahead, Jean was sure that on a sunny day the room would be an extremely bright place. The entryway was neat aside from a few pairs of shoes haphazardly strewn along one wall, Jean slipped his own off both out of courtesy and to rid himself of the squelching. His once white socks were an off grey colour due to being so wet. Marco had already rid himself of his messenger bag and shoes.

The wall opposite the shoes held a large bifold door that Jean assumed was some sort of double closet for coats and the like to be stored. With an expression of apprehension Jean took a step further into the apartment, which was really rather spacious and neat. Marco had been needlessly worried about the mess it seemed. It was neater than Jean's bedroom - his only solitary place - by far.

Jean's foot slipped slightly on the varnished wood of the floor and he stopped where he was, a glance down telling him he was leaving a trail of little puddles in his wake. Marco seemed to have no such reservations about getting his floor wet, though, as he walked over to and then around a kitchen island to the sink there. Jean watched as the other man washed his hands with a grateful sigh and he so wanted to do the same but he felt weird. The last time he'd been in another person's house was Connie, years ago now before his accident.

"Don't worry about the floor, you can come in. It’s only water." Marco glanced over his shoulder and gave an open smile, obviously trying to reassure the slightly shorter man. "Here, come wash your hands okay?" He stepped slightly to the side to allow Jean space at the sink.

"Thanks..." Jean nodded and uttered, quietly clearing his throat. He shuffled over to the sink and shoved his hands beneath the spray of the faucet. The water was warm but not uncomfortably so and Jean blinked as Marco held up the hand wash, he let the other man pump some into his hands.

"I'll go find you something to change into, if  _ I'm _ soaked through I can't imagine how you must feel." A soft almost hum of a laugh followed the words and Marco left Jean to finish washing the blood off of himself.

When he was done Jean turned off the tap and glanced about for a towel to dry his hands on, eventually finding a tea towel that had been haphazardly tossed onto one corner of the kitchen island behind him. Standing there awkwardly Jean noted the lack of a dining table, but he'd seen two bar stools on the other side of the island so he assumed that's where the other man sat to eat. Either there or on the couch, which looked well worn but comfortable.

"Holy shit!" Jean jolted and choked on his words as a sudden, booming crash of thunder seemed to shake the building, accompanied by the bright flash of lightning. He'd thought the storm was easing off, not getting worse. Still, he was glad to be inside by the time the thunder started.

"You okay?" Marco's voice drew Jean's attention away from the large windows and back to the other man. He looked a bit flustered from the sudden sound too, hair askew from an obvious attempt at scrubbing it dry with the towel that now hung around his shoulders.

"Y-yeah. No... I mean  _ yes _ , I was just surprised. I guess." Jean stumbled over his words and moved over to take the offered pile of folded clothing and a towel. He had no idea what he was doing here or why. He should have just gone home, odd looks or not.

"Me too." Marco relinquished his grip on the bundle and walked back towards the single door in the apartment other than the front door and closet. Jean assumed it was the bathroom. He was right.

"Thanks.." Jean ducked his head as he murmured and slid into the room past Marco, who was holding the door for him like a gentleman. Yes,  _ really _ .

"No problem, um..." Marco mulled something over for a moment and Jean thought he could see a slight colour tinging the other man's cheeks, but it could have just been the lighting. "There's some boxers too - they're new!" He was quick to add the information. "You don't have to give  _ those _ back, but... seems like it'll be needed."

"Y…es..." Jean didn't know how to respond to that. At least they were brand new, still it was weird to be in a strangers house, getting naked and wearing their clothes let alone underwear, new or not.

They cleared their throats seemingly at the same time and then another flash and crash of thunder made them both jump with surprise. At least Jean wasn't the only wuss. Good. He nodded his head again for something to do then closed the door, sliding the lock into place as he heard Marco shuffling about in the other room. Probably trying to change before Jean came back out because Jean couldn't imagine wanting to stay in soaked clothes for a moment longer than necessary.

Jean dumped the pile he was holding onto the counter next to the sink and made quick work of stripping off. He stood there naked - and very self-consciously - for a moment to scrub at his hair with the towel, trying to get rid of as much moisture as he could. He drew the towel down his body after that, avoiding his crotch because he couldn't face using someone else's towel on that particular area of anatomy.

It took a moment for him to get the courage up to slip into the boxers - a bit loose on his hips but Marco wasn't as skinny as him - followed by the soft light grey tracksuit bottoms and a black t-shirt that was probably fitted on Marco but hung slightly loose on Jean. The neck covered the area of synthetics at his right collar bone but the sleeves were shorter than his usual shirts and the bottom of the black and white additions to his body were peeking out from beneath the hem. Jean tugged at the fabric with a muffled huff, trying to cover the unnatural looking area.

Scraping his hands back through his hair for a moment before fiddling with his bangs to get them hanging just right over his right eye, Jean decided he was at the best level of comfort he was going to get in a strangers house. In a stranger's clothes. At least Marco had given him fresh socks to wear too.

Bundling his wet clothes into a messy ball - making sure his underwear was secured right in the middle damnit - Jean waited another moment before deciding it'd probably been long enough for Marco to finish getting changed too. After all, the other man probably didn't have to worry about taking the time to make sure his robotics were sufficiently hidden. 

The lock slid easily out of place and Jean opened the door with a soft whoosh as another boom sounded overhead. He stopped stock still when he was merely a step out of the room, though.

Marco was standing there with his back to Jean, still oblivious to him it seemed. But he was only half dressed. Instead of the dark coloured work slacks he'd been wearing Marco was now sporting a pair of light blue jeans riding far too low on his hips to be decent. The other man was half into a blue t-shirt and Jean didn't know why but he couldn't help but stare at the well toned back before it was obscured by fabric. He cleared his throat.

"Oh!" Marco spun in place and finished tugging the shirt down at the front. "Hey, feel better?" He seemed oblivious to Jean's guilt.  _ Good _ .

"Yeah, thanks." Jean commended himself on keeping his voice level. "Got a uh... bag or something I can shove these into? Mom's gonna kill me when she sees these." He must have made a strange expression - it was dread pure and simple, by the way - because Marco laughed. Jean felt indignant and resisted the urge to pout. "What?" He asked instead, incredulous.

"Hah- Sorry you.... you looked so..." Marco moved his hands in the air for a moment trying to find the right word but apparently couldn't because he just shook his head, scraping his hand back through his hair and glancing around the room searchingly. "I should have, but if you leave it with me I can get the stains out you know." Jean lifted a brow.

"You can get blood stains out of my clothes?" He asked skeptically. " _ Really _ ?" His voice was flat and disbelieving and Marco rolled his eyes slightly. Jean watched him move to the drawers next to the bed and crouch to pull a canvas bag out of the bottom most one.

"Yes.  _ Really _ ." Marco stood again and walked closer to Jean, holding the bag open for the shorter man to shove his soiled clothes into. Jean did. "My dry cleaning lady showed me a trick to getting blood out after... ah.." Marco's expression changed from amused to embarrassed, at least that's what Jean thought it was.

"After...?" Oh god was Marco  _ actually  _ a serial killer or something? He subconsciously took a step back.

"N-no not  _ that  _ hah!" Marco seemed to understand Jean’s thoughts and he was laughing again, hooking the bag over his forearm so he could hold his stomach in mirth. Apparently Jean was hilarious. "It's just... I can't seem to get the hang of things in the kitchen!  _ Cooking _ !" He was still laughing. Jean felt himself prickle.

"Well  _ excuse me _ for wondering why a stranger would need  _ blood  _ washed out of his clothes on a regular basis whilst standing in his house.  _ Alone _ ." Jean shoved his hands into the pockets of his borrowed sweats and felt them slip down his hips a couple of inches with the movement. He scrunched his nose and yanked them up again quickly. Thankfully the t-shirt was longline.

"S-sorry. Sorry." Marco was obviously doing his best to quell his amusement. The storm nothing but background noise now. "I get it. I promise I'm just a regular guy with a boring desk job who can't use a kitchen knife to save his life. Okay?" An admirable attempt at placation. It worked a bit.

" _ Sure _ ." Jean raised an eyebrow but felt himself relax a bit, Marco's laugh was almost contagious and Jean felt the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips.

Now that he'd changed and handed over his clothes Jean didn't really know what to say or do. It was still raining outside and his shoes were still soaked, he wasn't looking forward to putting them back on because it meant having to get wet socks and put up with the squelching all over again and he wasn't sure he really wanted to do that. Still, Marco had already gone above and beyond to be a good samaritan and host. Jean was sure he was tired after spending all day working, then dealing with an awkward teenager crying over a cat and helping him bury it in a public park  _ with his bare hands _ .

Jean pressed his left hand to his upper right arm, right hand shoved into the pocket of the sweats still. He looked off to one side.

"So uh... I guess if you know how to get the stain out it'd be a big help. But you don't have to..." Come to think of it Jean hadn't seen a washer or dryer in the apartment so did that mean they were somewhere else in the building, or was Marco planning to pay someone to do it at the dry cleaners instead? If that was the case Jean should probably just ask where it was because he  _ knew _ he was more well off than the other man, even if it meant his mother finding out. She wouldn't understand.

"It's fine." Marco waved a hand dismissively and picked up his own pile of wet clothes before he walked around Jean towards the entryway. The other man used his foot to slide open the closet doors and Jean shuffled slightly to one side to peer into the space revealed. A washer-dryer took up one half of the floor space. Ah.

"Oh." Well, what else was he supposed to say? It wasn't like he could make conversation over laundry forever. Or at all really, because what the hell did you say about laundry?

Marco put the bag on top of the machine and opened the door in the front of it, pushing his own clothes in before moving away for now. Obviously feeling weird about doing it in front of a guest. Jean couldn't really blame him.

"The storm's still pretty bad right now, you want a drink or anything? It's probably best to sit and wait it out for a while... Unless you have somewhere you need to be?" How did Marco ask him to hang out so easily? For all he knew  _ Jean  _ was the serial killer. Then again he'd been found crying over a cat in a heap in the middle of the path.

"Well I... " He didn't really want to go back out into the renewed downpour, especially not with thunder and lightning still streaking the sky. It was a matter of deciding which scenario was the least uncomfortable for him. Marco won out. "Sure. Do you have coffee?" Jean moved towards the island counter and awkwardly perched his ass on the very edge of one of the bar stools.

"You can sit on the couch you know. My furniture doesn't bite." Marco made the comment as he moved to fill the kettle and turn it on. Jean didn't think before sticking his tongue out at the other man. Marco caught him doing it as he turned around, of course he did. He looked like he was trying not to laugh. Again.

"My ass might." Jean regretted the words instantly, why the hell did he do that. Speaking before thinking as soon as even an ounce of familiarity sparked with anyone.

"Y-  _ what _ ?" Marco flat out  _ wheezed _ . His expression was an odd mix of utter shock, embarrassment - probably second hand - and levity. He suddenly looked younger. Maybe he wasn't quite as old as Jean had thought, however more than the other man's age Jean was concerned with his own  _ utter humiliation _ .

"No! I mean- That just came out-  _ fuck _ !" Jean shoved both hands over his face with a groan and hunched over in his seat until his knuckles felt the cool kiss of the countertop. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Once again Jean Kirstein had made an idiot out of himself in front of someone. Someone  _ new _ .

It was one thing to act that way around old friends like Connie and Sasha who'd known him since pre-school, though admittedly they were more distant now since the accident and finishing high school. It was another thing entirely to speak before thinking in such a way around a stranger who could maybe have turned into a friend but now Jean was too  _ mortified  _ to think about anything past his social awkwardness.

"Jean- it's...  _ haah _ !" Marco was trying his best to comfort Jean, he really was but Jean could tell the other man was struggling horrendously with it. He was still gasping for breath around his barely withheld laughing. "Please don't- don't feel like you need to... worry. I'm sorry for laughing at you." The kettle popped, finishing it's task of boiling the water and Marco turned to get some mugs and dish out instant coffee into each.

"Easy for you to say." Jean groused from beneath the cage of his hands, he could feel the heat of humiliation strong in his face.

"Do you have milk or sugar in your coffee?" Marco asked and Jean blinked, peering out of his humiliation nest to finally look at the other man. Marco's cheeks were pink and he still looked overly amused but he wasn't laughing any more at least.

"No, neither." He wasn't into sweet coffee in general. Unless it was the odd mocha.

"Okay." Marco smiled at him and turned back to add some sugar to one of the cups - obviously his own - but no milk. When he was done he turned and placed one down in-front of Jean before leaning his hip against the counter across from the beet coloured blond. "You can relax okay? I'm not judging you, I think you're-" He cut himself off and Jean raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"What? An idiot? A weirdo?" The tone Jean used wasn't accusatory but flat, because honestly he felt those things about himself in times like these.

" _ No _ ! Pfft! No not at all. I think you're  _ funny _ . In a good way."  _ Really _ ? Marco sounded genuine. Jean sat up a bit more then, still hunched but propping his chin up on a hand instead of trying to hide behind them. He was definitely still blushing hard.

"It's not intentional I can assure you." Jean sniffed and turned his head to the side in mock snobbery, the cup his right hand was wrapped around felt warm, in a fuzzy and artificial sort of way.

"Hmm... I believe you." Marco sounded smug, or something akin to it. Jean glanced at him from the corner of his eyes and thought he was seeing things for a moment because the other man was smirking.  _ Smirking _ . The expression looked odd on Marco's features for some reason but it made Jean's stomach flip-flop and he averted his gaze quickly.

_ What the fuck was that _ ? Jean felt like his heart stuttered for a moment in his confusion over the sensation.


End file.
